‘Even when you have everything? If you can afford it all—a fleet of Ferraris, a string of houses—then doesn’t it lose the sparkle, the sense of achievement?’
‘No, because you can always up the ante. Buy a castle, get a yacht, start a whole new business... Go into real estate, or hotels, or even on a quest for a new and improved cleaning product. The sky is the limit. There are always new challenges.’
For a moment she envied him that drive and ambition, but she knew it wasn’t for her. In truth it scared her, unsettled her, took her way out of her comfort zone.
‘I think I’ll settle for giving Jodie a good start, and securing a steady job is the best way to achieve that.’
Ben frowned. ‘What about what you want? For you. Not for Jodie.’
‘I want what is best for Jodie. The two are interlinked.’
‘OK. So do you want her to try to be good enough? Or the best?’
She could feel her eyes narrow. ‘That’s sneaky,’ she said. And way too close to the bone. ‘I want her to be the best she can be.’
‘Exactly. The best she can be—not just as good as she can be. There’s a difference. I’m just saying, whatever your goal, make it a big one and go for it.’
Only it wasn’t always that easy—not when she’d messed up as badly as she had. That made any possible goals smaller and the road a whole lot narrower. Once again regret touched her.
But now Ben frowned, stepped forward and studied her face. ‘Sorry. I’ve upset you and I didn’t mean to. I get carried away sometimes; I didn’t mean to criticise you.’
The apology touched her. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, and then, seeing the frown that still creased his forehead, she smiled. ‘Honestly. Now, I’d better get started on these clothes.’
‘Go ahead—knock yourself out. I’ll go and do a walkabout, have a chat to some of the operatives. I’ll be back in about half an hour.’
True to his word, half an hour later he returned—just as she was checking through her selection of clothes.
‘I got us some food from the canteen,’ he said. ‘I hope this is OK.’
He handed over a packaged sandwich and she smiled her thanks.
‘I’ve made a choice based on what you said yesterday,’ she told him. ‘You want some clothes that are keepers, so I’ll make sure I wear items for more than one occasion, because that’s what you do in ordinary life. I’ll mix and match and I’ll use accessories to jazz it all up.’
She took one last glance at her choices and frowned.
‘I wonder if you should get someone else as well—someone with a different body shape and colouring to me. I keep forgetting there are some colours I really can’t wear.’
‘Keep forgetting?’ he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Damn—she wished she could take those words back. She kept her tone of voice factual. ‘I spent quite a few years dyeing my hair.’
‘Why? Your hair is an incredible colour. It’s stunning.’
His voice had deepened, was edged with awareness, and suddenly she wanted to let her hair loose, shake it free so he could appreciate its full glory.
‘If I could bottle it as a dye I’d sell it,’ he said.
‘At a market stall?’ Her voice was shaky.
‘Roll up, roll up! Ladies and gents, do you want hair that looks like this? Vibrant, softer than silk, with gloss and verve?’
His voice sent a tremor down to her nerve endings, fizzed the blood in her veins, and her scalp tingled as if craving the feel of his fingers gloriously tangled in her hair.
‘A colour so beautiful it will make you smile whenever you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror...’
The words jolted into her as a vision of Imogen flashed before her eyes—almost as if her twin were here in the warehouse.
How Imo would have loved this—revelled in the idea of modelling clothes. Imo had been a born performer, an extrovert, a drama student. As a girl she’d loved their hair colour—would have used it now to be noticed. Imo would have been a poster girl for the extraordinary, but it was Sarah standing there, talking, laughing, living, feeling, fantasising. Imogen was gone, her vitality no more...dust to dust and ashes to ashes.